


A Conflicted Runner

by smartwaterworks



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Character Study, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 21:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartwaterworks/pseuds/smartwaterworks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Character Study of Maria Hill -  When one is in love with the god of chaos, what do you run from?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Conflicted Runner

When she comes in from the twenty hours of hell, she’s angry. Keys are thrown, crashing to the wall and scratching the mirror that has taken up the role as target. Work boots are tossed roughly to the side as she huffs, walking directly to the kitchen cabinet that holds her liquor. A couple shots of whiskey burn her throat, but it’s the pain that reminds her that she’s real, that she’s breathing.

Though why, she can’t get the universe to explain. Her apartment is white; white walls connected to white tiles. An effort to clean up what can never be erased. Inside she’s a mixture of crimson and black. 

Red, the blood she’s spilt and the blood she continues to spill. Every scream of every victim, of every friend that’s she’s killed, it burns her. It burns so much that it blackens her soul, and she feels as though one day it will show on her skin, and people will see the helplessness she feels. The black, the darkness that consumes her, the void she stares into screaming for the one thing that matters.

She feels the god’s hand on her arm, his voice crooning in her ear as he kisses her neck, but that does nothing to sooth her. He’s brushed off with an angry shrug and she storms away, throwing the glass to hear a satisfying shatter against the pristine white tile floor. His voice is heard but she can’t listen, can’t handle the questions, or the comments that he throws her way.

The door slams behind her as she struggles to put space between them, and he quietly retreats to grant it to her. The uniform is almost torn as she pulls it from her body, dropping it carelessly onto the floor to be picked up later. A pair of running shorts and shoes take its place, and a shirt from the Marine Corps covers her chest and torso.

It’s who she is, and who she will continue to be. A soldier, running for her country if ever called again. She’s running now, but no drums are heard, so where is she running to?

The woman storms from the bedroom, slinging her phone towards the unexpected god on the couch. The significance is clear: she doesn’t want to hear. Not just him, but anyone. The shoulders that have held so heavy a burden are tired, exhausted from their labor, and she feels as though she may explode in the elevator down to the basement floor.

Maria Hill begins to run.

There’s a gym that costs more money than she can afford, but she pays for it nonetheless. It provides a quiet respite from the world, from shield, from him.

She runs from her childhood. She runs from her father, and the words he screams to her echo in her ear.

 

useless  
pathetic  
worthless

 

He’s not what a father should be, but that’s all the family she had. The lack of a mother to groom her into a proper lady, to enjoy laughter with and share tears, rings in her mind and spreads like poison.

She runs from Ireland, from the grandmother she never knew she had. Who spent two weeks fighting every word her son speaks to her, who spent two weeks telling her exactly what she needs to hear.

You are loved.

 

But it’s not enough, because when she’s ripped violently from the woman’s arms, she does not cry from the pain of blows upon her face, but from the searing loss of the only person who cared.

She runs from her teachers, her principles who gave up on her. Who look upon her tear stained face and rain pity but do nothing to save her.

She runs, and oh god, it hurts. But she can’t stop running.

faster  
faster  
useless  
worthless  
faster  
pathetic

 

She runs from the Marine Corps. From the drill sergeant who repeats everything she already knows. After a while, you start to believe what they tell you. That you’re pathetic, that you can’t handle what little responsibility they give you.

Worthless

 

She runs from Shield, and the burden the agency places on her. The headaches that form after an hour of her being on duty, from the missions and agents that she deals with. She runs from the blood that runs in her veins and on her hands, the death toll underneath her name rises from her punches, her bullets, her thoughts. There’s so much blood, that’s all she can see.

And in time, Maria runs from him. Despite his love, despite his care, she looks in the mirror and those words bounce between her ears, and she begins to harbour doubt. Doubt that he loves her, doubt that he cares, doubt that, why would he? Why should he? She is nothing.

Worthless  
Pathetic  
Useless

And oh, so utterly human.

When her body is pushed to the limit, her muscles cry out but she’s not finished. She runs, and oh god please no, please no more, it hurts, oh god please. 

The body on the machine is filled with red and black and grief and sorrow and so much pain. It abandons its post to curl into itself, hiding in the empty room. The blackened heart has broken, shattered like the glass upon her floor, and she weeps into sweat stained clothing. She doesn’t look up when a pair of familiar arms surround her, nor does she stir when the pull of her stomach tells her she’s home.

She’s done so much running.

The dam has broken, and the tears flow neverending. She barely feels her body being lowered onto bedsheets, but his arms around her are a force to be recognized. She cries, and she weeps, and broken sobs escape her throat as she buries her face in his shirt and prays he doesn’t speak.

And he doesn’t. He just holds the broken woman as every tear that never fell, falls. And when the tears have dried and there’s no more, she gasps for air to fill her lungs, to remain living, to remain breathing, to remain there.

Her arms make the first move, and they wrap around his neck as her face hides from shame. Shame of being broken, of not being the woman who has everything together. Her whispers are vocal, cracked pieces of her heart.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you, so much. Please. I love you. I’m so sorry. Don’t leave me, please. I love you. Don’t leave me.

 

He whispers his own replies to her, soothing her fears of abandonment with promises of love to the one woman he cares so much for.

His darling, brave, brave, Maria.

Words stop but the hold on his neck doesn’t loosen, and they remain in the bed for hours to come in a tight embrace. 

Nothing will come between them.

Nothing.

When the dam has emptied and the woman’s rigid frame relaxes, finally, he realizes just how tired she’s become. Just how much of a mask she wears, and he realizes that he’s known all along.

His darling, brave, Maria.

She falls asleep, and does not wake when a coolness passes over her skin when he removes her sweat stained clothes. She doesn’t feel the heaviness of a necklace on her chest, the ornament halting the nightmares that plague her. He noticed that she’s been wearing it again, and he wonders if she doesn’t wake him at night, or if it’s a reminder of the one he lost, and the one she came to accept.

She doesn’t stir when the sheets cover her, or when his body lays beside hers a moment later. Exhaustion has settled in her bones, and in her mind and heart, and he pulls her to him and doesn’t let go. He doesn’t let go to remind her, that he’s there, that he’s never leaving, and that he’s hers, and that she belongs.

 

For when she wakes in the morning, and her hair is still in the bun, and her limbs are tangled with his, she remembers her breakdown, and she remembers who held her, and who loved her.

And who continues to love.

And she smiles, for there will be no more running.

**Author's Note:**

> Any story I write is based off of a rp from tumblr. This was basically something I wrote at 2 am, so unbeta'd.


End file.
